Easier

A few days after Matthew was born, a lady from church who brought us a dinner asked me a question that, at the time I did not have an answer too. "Wouldn't you have preferred if he had died before he was born, and it had been a miscarriage instead?" As horrible as that sounds, she was legitimately confused. I had been saying how incredibly grateful I was for the hour and a half he had given us before he passed away.

In her mind, things would have been so much "easier" if I had simply miscarried earlier, instead of delivering a very premature baby after over 2 days of labor. Maybe she though there would be "less" to grieve.

At the time, I was neither offended or horrified, surprisingly, because I knew even then, that no one can understand unless they stand in that place.

Now, I have an answer. If I was asked that again, I hope I'd have the presence of mind to reply in sincerity and experience.



In that moment, that precious, unending moment, that Matthew was born and placed in my arms, I began to live for the first time.

I now knew love.

I now knew true sacrifice.

I now knew purpose.

I now knew life.


Since then, I have grown immensely as a person, as a mother, and as a wife. I have hardened in some ways, and grown more compassionate in others. Before, priorities were always a semi-elusive entity, and now, they couldn't be more clear.

My path was laid out for me, clear as day. Life, as I knew it, ended abruptly, but unmourned.

Leaving the hospital without him, Jamie and I entered into a different world. We live day by day in this new world, and while different, it still holds happiness as well as the grief which was our doorway in.

I thank Matthew for all of this. For such a little person, he has made more of an impact in our lives than time, nature, and the universe itself ever could. He is, who we are.



So if I am ever asked that question again, I would say no, any amount of "easiness" would not be worth the sacrifice of who we would be without him. That will never be a question in our minds, for we would choose the same path again, and again, and again, if it meant still having him alive in our arms for those few moments.

In those moments, I became a mother, my husband became a father, and we are eternally grateful to our son for that.

A Quiet Companion

We're coming up on the one year anniversary of my firstborn son's birth, and death. What should be celebrated with cake, candles, and noisy baby gifts, will instead be a quiet, calm, and private day. Jamie and I haven't discussed plans for that day yet, but we will probably spend it by ourselves in quiet celebration of his short but beautiful life.

~

Life has changed. It's morphed into multiple shapes over the past 2 years.

We started on this road as newlyweds.
A few years down the line, we were two people who ached to be parents with all of our hearts, and had walked through years of infertility.
The road suddenly changed. It grew bright, beautiful, and full of joy. We were expecting a son. Soon we would have a family on this road we traveled.
Abruptly, we were in darkness. There was pain and confusion. There was loss. So suddenly, there was nothing.

He was gone.

Slowly, we have stumbled on, with scraped knees, broken hearts, and sorrow filled eyes. There were times we could not see a way out. There were times we've considered leaving the path, leaving life, and being done with it. What is life worth, without the person you love most? But he kept us going. Our love for him constantly on our minds, driving us to hope for happiness again. Not seeing it in reach, but still hoping.

There are glimpses of our little boy along the road. In a child's eyes, in each other's faces, in a song, in a word, and most of all, in his name.

He still walks with us. Just not the way we wished. Our family is still a reality, though invisible to the common eye. We see us. We see him, everywhere.

He's our quiet companion. Whispering a son's love in his momma's ear when she most needs it. Holding daddy's hand in the hard times when his strength wanes.

He's there. Always. Look for him in my eyes. Feel him in my words. If you are lucky, you may get the chance to meet my son.